


Dirty Romance

by Mikey (mikes_grrl)



Category: due South
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-10
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:58:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/pseuds/Mikey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray Kowalski is not one to let romance pass him by, even if that means he has to grab hold and throttle it. Or, alternately, make an idiot of himself. He figures it is a good idea to play to his strengths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for equusentric who needed some fluff. I put this together quickly and with very little forethought, and not much time spent on editing. Concrit welcome.

Predictably, Ray was foiled at every turn. This fact in no way surprised him – he was more surprised when something went right, like his father talking to him again or catching Muldoon or Fraser jumping his bones. Those were _very right things_ that Ray thought a lot about because they seemed to go against the grain. The rest of life? Particularly in the romance department? Foiled.

For first: candles. Fraser hated them, or something like hate, it was bad anyway, so bad that after that first disastrous Valentines Day when Ray had decked out the living room with maybe 1,000 candles to set the mood, Fraser walked out and did not come home until the following morning. The make up sex to that was pretty spectacular, but it was not worth putting Fraser through…whatever he went through.

For second: dinner and dancing. Ray knew that Fraser could dance, despite his formal style – they had waltzed plenty in the living room. But the whole “dinner date” thing was never going to happen, because they were guys, and they were cops, and that was that. Ray offered a few times, but Fraser always looked so torn up about saying “no, Ray, your career is too important to jeopardize” that Ray stopped asking.

For final: flowers. Ray tried, he really tried, but Dief always intercepted and _stole Fraser’s flowers_ and it really was a serious issue between him and the wolf, because that was not cool, it was not buddies, and it was war. Which meant it was not fair to drag Fraser into it, despite the fact it was his flowers being stolen. Not that he knew he ever got flowers, because Dief always got them first. One day, Ray swore to himself…one day.

Which all meant that Ray, who was a romantic at heart, was foiled. Again. Because now it was Fraser’s birthday, and it seemed like the whole city of Chicago was sending Fraser gifts (which he refused to accept for himself, and kept sending down to orphanages and children’s hospitals) or giving him cake (which he refused to eat, and kept sending to homeless shelters) and generally throwing big city-wide parties for the Mountie (for which Fraser had drawn up a schedule that was broken into fifteen minute increments so that he could make an appearance at each and every single damn party).

So Ray gave up with the predictable, and decided to take that left turn at Albuquerque. Routine was the silent killer, after all, and Ray was not dead yet. Or something. And he was a poet at heart, but a man of action, and also very fucking brave. He was the KING of brave. He survived four months in the arctic snow of Canada on a dogsled, and damnit, he was going to show Fraser how much he loved him. According the Fraser’s party schedule, he had five hours to do it.  
\-------------------  
“Ray?” Fraser called out from the front of the apartment.

“Yeah?” Ray yelled back.

“I brought home some cake for you. Where…ah, oh. You cleaned the living room.”

“I’m in the bedroom, Fraser. And yes, I did clean the living room, but how do you know that? The lights are off.”

“I smelled vinegar. So either you made a nice vinaigrette at midnight for my birthday, or you…yes, you cleaned the living room.” Ray heard Fraser flick the light switch. “You dusted, Ray.” There was a slightly stunned tone to his voice.

“Yeah. Well. You know me, never leave a penny unturned.”

“I think you mean…and the kitchen?”

Ray could hear him sniffing from the other room.

“Vinegar and borax, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Your recipe, you should know.” Ray yelled out impatiently, wondering how long it would take for Fraser to get into the damn bedroom. He groaned inwardly when he heard cabinets being open and closed.

“You alphabetized the spice rack.” Fraser called out.

“You’re always asking. I was home. I was bored. I thought, hey! Why not?”

There was shuffling around as Fraser finally walked over the bedroom. “I smell dryer sheets. Did you do the laundry…oh my.”

Brave, Ray thought, he was brave, he could do this, he was doing this. But there was no answer, no movement, no sound from Fraser in the doorway and Ray felt the flush start creeping over his skin.

“Uh, Ben?”

“Ray.” His name was whispered, and there was more shuffling, and Ray let out a heavy breath when Fraser put his hand on his shoulder. “Ray. Is this…is this my birthday present?”

“Yeah. Yeah. And the spice rack.” Ray blinked behind the blindfold, trying to figure out if he could have sounded less sexy and romantic if he had actually tried. Probably not.

“Oh, Ray…”

Ray shuddered as a finger trailed down his bare arm.

“You cleaned the whole apartment.” Fraser’s voice was quiet and heavy.

“Yeah.”

“And did the laundry.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, feeling like an idiot.

“And alphabetized the spice rack.” The fingers were back, more of them, sliding over his chest, as Fraser whispered.

“Jesus, Fraser…Ben…” Ray felt his body straining towards the touch.

“And here you are. Nude, and wearing a blindfold.” Fraser sounded amused, and Ray thought he was going to die of shame on the spot.

“I read it in a book. It was…it was….oh, oh…” He lost his thought and his embarrassment when Fraser pushed him down by his shoulders and straddled him. He could feel the scratchy wool of Fraser’s uniform against his hips, felt the light brush of the lanyard on his chest when Fraser leaned down over him.

“And you, Ray? Are you clean too?”

Ray groaned and arched his back. Fraser kept whispering into his ear. “Perhaps I should taste you, to find out.”

“No cake?” Ray asked dumbly as Fraser’s tongue ran over his collarbone. Fraser sat up.

“Oh, cake. Yes. Excellent idea, Ray.” Suddenly Ray was cold as Fraser got up off the bed. He heard the familiar sounds of Fraser taking off his clothes, and then disappearing out of the bedroom. He tried not to squirm impatiently, and failed.

“Frase? Ben?”

“My cake. It’s my birthday. I get cake with my present. I believe it’s traditional.”

Ray nodded as he felt Fraser sit down on the bed next to him. “Traditional, okay…HEY!” He yelped as something cold and mushy was slapped onto his chest.

“Oh dear, I dropped my piece of cake.”

“Oh _God_ …” Ray whined, realizing that his one mistake in his whole plan was underestimating the Mountie. Fraser acted nice but he could play dirty when he wanted to.

“Dirty…you’re…dirty…” Ray’s voice was not working in time with his thoughts as he felt Fraser’s teeth nibbling at the cake on his chest.

“I’m so sorry Ray, but you're right. I suspect we’re going to have to do launder the sheets again later.”

Ray gasped as the wicked tongue kept working over his skin. “It’s your birthday, Ben. Get as dirty as you want. I’ll…oh, God, Ben! I’ll clean up….”

“Mmmm.”

 

#


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